


The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress

by justacuppatea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M, and my non-existant writing skills, possible Laura Hale feels, underage wedding :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justacuppatea/pseuds/justacuppatea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds a way to tame his wolf around Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



_Stiles is sixteen._

_  
_

This is a mantra that Derek Hale has taken to a whole new level. A _religious_ level. But it’s better this way, because on this level, awkward teenagers don’t bat their eyelashes at you and throw all your resolve away. Also, their fathers – who happen to be the town’s sheriffs – don’t chase you out of town, guns blazing. So it’s a safe level, and Derek will remain a resident here until Stiles is at least eighteen.

 

Stiles, however, doesn’t seem to be sharing his views, if the way he steps closer to him after a date is any indication.

 

Derek is leaning against the hood of his Camaro, eyes fixed on their entwined hands. Stiles smiles playfully and fights his way between his legs, thumb brushing distractingly over Derek’s fingers.

 

“Your dad’s waiting for you.”

 

Stiles tilts his head at that and squeezes Derek’s hand, the beginning of a frown on his face.

 

“Are you chasing me away?” 

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Derek replies quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Stiles makes a hungry noise in the back of his throat and clings to the front of his leather jacket, deepening the kiss. Derek growls softly and drags him closer by his belt, his fingers twitching from the desire to just _touch_ and _enjoy_ the lean body before him.

 

Stiles chuckles and slides his hands through Derek’s hair; it’s obvious that he wants more, but Derek will have none of that. Breaking the kiss, he smirks at the pout on Stiles’ face and makes him go inside the house.

 

Stiles may want more… but so does Derek’s wolf, which is harder and harder to keep under control as he stares at the retreating back.

 

This could be a problem.

_

 

A really _big_ problem.

_

 

But in the end, Derek deals with it the usual way – by not talking to anyone about it (and it’s not like that is a possibility, anyway) and doing the _wrong_ things. Like giving just a little bit into his desires, sliding his hands over Stiles’ ribs when they kiss, mapping his neck with his teeth and tongue. Small things.

 

It usually calms his wolf for a few hours, but then the hunger comes back, much worse.

 

Derek knows what’s going on, it doesn’t take a genius to notice; his wolf noticed that Stiles hasn’t yet been claimed.

 

But.

 

_But._

_  
_

_Stiles is sixteen._

_

 

The idea hits him during one of his daily runs through the woods. Derek comes upon a clearing, much farther away from his usual route. The way only some rays of sun manage to squeeze through the crown of branches and leaves high above reminds him of other simple and beautiful things.

 

Like Laura’s laughter on a Sunday afternoon.

 

It’s painful to be here, but Derek doesn’t leave immediately; this place reminds him of Laura’s fairytales, like it could be the den of tiny, supernatural creatures, or the place where the princess gets married (secretly, of course) to a peasant.

 

Married—

 

Derek blinks and looks around.

 

_Huh._

_

 

“I won’t turn into a werewolf, right?” Stiles asks for the _n_ th time, grunting when he walks right into Derek. “Because I remember saying that I didn’t want that. I’ve got my dad to worry about, I—“

 

“No,” Derek interrupts him, turning around and holding back a smile at the way Stiles is frowning, unable to see his face in the dark. “It’s not the kind of ritual you’re thinking about.” Derek’s eyes drift to the object Stiles is clutching in his hands.

 

Stiles smiles playfully. “So there will be no virgin sacrifices?”

 

Resisting the urge to smack him upside the head, Derek just rolls his eyes and then starts walking again, slower this time, so that Stiles can catch up with him. They don’t speak again until they get to the clearing, but Derek can hear the rapid beat of Stiles’ heart against his ribcage. He’s excited, and his fingers are crushing some of the flowers in his hands, suffocating the tiny petals and making their colours bleed on white skin.

 

“Stop that,” Derek mumbles, reaching out for the crown and prying it from Stiles’ hands. “You’re going to ruin it.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles breathes, eyes darting curiously around them. “It’s… pretty in here.” They take a few steps closer to the center and sit down on the grass, the cool air biting at their skin. Derek shifts so that he’s on his knees in front of Stiles and shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, then drapes it across Stiles’.

 

The teenager chuckles at that, a breathy sound that sounds more nervous than amused. Hugging the jacket closer to his body, he looks at Derek and starts worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “So…  We’re basically doing this so that your wolf won’t make you jump me? Because I’m getting second thoughts here.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, Derek absent-mindedly brushes his knuckles over Stiles’ cheek, the messy flower crown lying in the grass between them. “No,” he whispers, frowning and catching the way Stiles breath seems to stutter at the word. “I want to be tied to you. For as long as I live.” Derek sounds painfully cheesy, even to his own ears; but Stiles smiles beautifully, his whole face lighting up.

 

He can take some cheesiness, if that’s the response he’ll get.

 

Lifting the small crown from the ground, Derek carefully places it on Stiles’ head. It’s amazing how both of their hearts are beating so loudly that he can barely separate the sounds. He stays like that for a while, fingers caressing the petals, so close to Stiles that their breaths are mingling. Finally, Stiles licks his lips and looks at him nervously.

 

“What now…?”

 

Derek tugs him closer and ducks his face to the side of his throat, inhaling sharply. “I have to mark you.” Stiles’ heartbeat gets more frantic, but he nods, hands finding their way to Derek’s back and pulling him closer. “Ok,” he murmurs – _urgently_ – against Derek’s jaw. “Ok.” Derek hesitates, but Stiles’ heart is already calming down, the steady beat soothing to the werewolf’s ears. Bringing his mouth closer to the freckled skin, Derek breathes over it and then licks a thin stripe to the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ ear.

 

Stiles gasps and closes his eyes.

 

Derek smiles and runs his teeth over Stiles’ neck, his tongue smoothing the way. Stiles clutches Derek’s T-shirt in his hands and keeps making these small sounds that do nothing to help him keep the wolf calm. Growling softly, Derek bites down hard enough for it to hurt, but without breaking the skin.

 

He doesn’t notice at first, but as Stiles relaxes in his arms, Derek can finally breathe freely, taking in the teenager’s scent without worrying about the lack of control. Stiles laughs weakly against his chest, where his forehead is resting. Derek runs a hand over his back and lets out a questioning noise.

 

“You may kiss the groom.”

 

Sighing, Derek cups Stiles’ jaw and leans in, brushing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

 

“Were the flowers necessary?” Stiles asks, licking his lips. Derek looks uncomfortable for a moment and shrugs, his thumb brushing back and forth over the mark.

 

“Laura told me about it. They probably… weren’t, but—“

 

“It’s ok,” Stiles murmurs, adjusting the crown and smiling shyly. “It kinda feels like a wedding, y’know? Like you’re making an honest man out of me.”

 

Derek knows that part of the reason why Stiles is letting it go is because they both know that a young Laura Hale probably _improvised_ the wedding, but it makes them both feel closer to her.

 

“Are you going to carry me over the threshold now?”

 

“If you want.”

 

“If I—I was _joking_ , Derek—“

 

“You want me to, don’t you?”

 

Stiles pauses and flushes red. Derek smirks and kisses his forehead, hugging his lean body closer to himself.

_

 

When they get back to Stiles’ room, Derek has to carry him over the window sill, since his father is home.

 

Stiles doesn’t mind.

 

They fall asleep on Stiles bed, facing each other and holding hands, the flower crown resting between them.

**Author's Note:**

> You'll probably notice that the title is from a Florence and The Machine song, 'Howl'. It's a very fitting song for this pairing, to be honest.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the silliness of this story! (and my non-existent writing skills.)
> 
> Dedicated to the absolutely wonderful Saucery <3


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